


left behind

by sayomiya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, im sorry??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayomiya/pseuds/sayomiya
Summary: Yamaguchi Tadashi is sick of being left behind.





	

As far as he can remember, he’s always been the one to chase after the others, and as much as he laughs it off after a match or smiles to assure Hinata or someone else that it’s fine, he realises that it very much _isn’t_ and he doesn’t want it to be fine.

 

Yamaguchi doesn’t want this to be his concept of fine any more. Not when Tsukki and Hinata and Kageyama are getting further and further ahead of him and it seems to be so goddamn _effortless,_ while he stays behind in the same dark corner with only one skill to push him forward.

 

He doesn’t tell many people that (if any), but he hates it. He doesn’t want to admit that he falls short of the others, despite practicing late into the night every day with bruised fingers and cheeks wet from a substance that isn’t sweat.

 

If that’s what fine means, he doesn’t want it.

 

So what if he's able to perform a jump float serve? It's satiated him for the shortest period of time, able to give him that very electric spark that made his veins tingle, but it's seeping now and he hates it.

 

His serve isn’t something exclusive to him, not like Hinata and Kageyama’s quicks or Tsukki’s blocking. It’s just an ordinary skill that anyone could learn, albeit requiring much more time and effort, but he’s not sure if he’s fine with having something that Oikawa Tooru could do with better precision.

 

In the end, he (sort of) understands the Seijoh player’s tenacity and mindset. It’s hard standing next to players with so much talent, and it’s even harder to admit that to himself.

 

He’s sick of playing on and on without a chance at being a regular, when everyone else is growing their own pairs of wings and taking off to the sky, because he knows that he’s never going to be as good as them no matter how much he tries and tries.

 

Yamaguchi Tadashi is sick of being left behind, and, in a literal sense, he’s also sick of this sort of life.

 

The boy realises that as he stares at his bedroom ceiling, the evening’s dimness shrouding his room in a sort of hazy glow and his hands scratched and bleeding and cradling a beaten volleyball in their trembling grasp.

 

• • •

 

“Oi.” Tsukki’s voice cuts through the meddling for that seems to have nestled in his years, and he shoots up with a stifled yelp. “You’ve been playing like shit. What’s wrong?”

 

His gaze travels down to the ball in his hands, to the ground—anywhere but the taller boy’s gaze, really. He doesn’t think that he can say anything but the truth if he looks up. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “I think I’m just having one of those off days.”

 

Yamaguchi darts off before his friend can say anything else.

 

Tsukki’s right, though; he is playing like shit. He’s missed every receive today, and even his serves are going anywhere but over the net. It’s like his playing level has returned to that of some snot-nosed ten-year-old.

 

It’s not just his playing. He feels like shit too, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

He’s pretty sure that Daichi and Sugawara have picked up on his nervous tics. The two of them are always far too sharp-eyed at the most inconvenient times.

 

Another anxious glance at the clock reveals a ten-minute wait to the end of practice. He’s not like this most of the time; he’s usually the complete _opposite,_ so he hides a frown and continues missing serves while trying his best not to stare at the other first-years.

 

When Ukai calls for them to stop, earning a round of exhausted groans and heaved breaths from his teammates, he finds that he can’t wait to get out of the gym as soon as he can. It’s almost disgusting how eager he is.

 

This time, it’s Tsukki that has to catch up to him as he strides out of the gym. He would have made a joke about it a few days ago, but he’s not in the mood to talk to his best friend—or anyone—today and he wishes that the blonde can shut up and leave him alone.

 

“Are you coming to my place?” the boy asks. His tone is bored as usual; though, there’s a twinge of concern running through it now and it frightens him. “We have a test tomorrow and everything.”

 

He shakes his head a moment too fast, and it’s all he can do to suppress a gulp when he feels Tsukki’s eyes on him. “Not today,” he rejects. Somewhere at the back of the mind, he registers that he’s backing away. “I don’t feel very well.”

 

The silence between them is suffocating. The middle blocker keeps his gaze on him for a few seconds longer than he’s comfortable with, and he tries not to notice that and stares at the ground between his feet.

 

“Alright, then.” The reply is short, but he almost sighs in relief at it. “Do you need me to walk you home?”

 

“It’s fine,” he protests, considering for a second if he should just turn and leave before Tsukki can speak again. “I’m not that sick. I can get back by myself, Tsukki.”

 

Yamaguchi doesn’t bother—doesn’t _want_ —to turn back to see his friend’s reaction. He wheels around in the pocket of silence they have, making his way down the street as fast as he can and disappearing before anyone else can question him. 

 

• • •

 

It’s still early when he reaches home. Then again, it’s not every day that he skips out on getting meat buns with the rest of Karasuno’s volleyball club, so he figures that it’s understandable and climbs into bed before he can dwell on it any further.

 

His phone is lighting up with messages— _Tsukishima told me that you were sick, Yamaguchi. Rest well and don’t come to training if you’re not up to it!_ and _why didn’t you tell us? we’ll drop by later and see if you’re okay!_ —but he switches the device off and sets it down on his bedside table with a little more force than necessary.

 

Outside, the sky is turning grey. Thunder’s rumbling in the distance and he wonders if his fellow first-years have brought an umbrella. Hinata hasn’t for sure; he never bothers about things like that, and he’s not very sure about Tsukki or Kageyama.

 

The moment that he whispers a near-silent curse to himself is the moment when his mother knocks on the door and asks if he needs anything.

 

Yamaguchi shakes his head twice before realising that she can’t see him. He grits his teeth in annoyance, hands curling in by his side, but he doesn’t snap and tells her that he’s fine.

 

(He’s not fine. He wants too much, like a hug from someone or reassurance that he’s still good enough to be on the Karasuno team, or something to quell the hot, hot anger in his heart—)

 

He punches the wall. Of course, none of his family hears about this because they’re all too busy with their own lives, and he reels back and realises that his bruised hand has suffered more than the cement in front of him.

 

It’s then that he knows that he’s helpless and confused and in that stage of _oh god I want to die what am I going to do._

 

Yamaguchi pushes his door open, slipping on a pair of shoes (he doesn’t care which ones he uses) and ignores his mother’s shouts of getting sick. He doesn’t care about that. All he’s sick of is being so far behind that he can’t even see where he is anymore.

 

He’s positive that deep down, he hasn’t changed one bit from the time he was ten. After all, they’re still weak and cowardly and only able to look up to everyone else.

 

The thought escapes his mouth in a sob when he taps out two messages on his phone and glances at the grey-hued Miyagi below him. Some part of his mind is wandering, wondering just how many times Tsukki had told him to _go away_ and how many times he didn’t listen because he needs someone to hang on to.

 

He wonders how many times people have thought of him as annoying, and he wonders so many more of those mindless things as the ground rushes to embrace him.

 

• • •

 

**Conversation with: [Yamaguchi Tadashi]**

 

20:04 > i’m sick of being left behind by everyone.

 

20:05 > sorry, tsukki

 

• • •

 

Tsukishima doesn’t know why he stops at that. He’s just going about his usual business, hanging around at the back of the volleyball team while Daichi gets food and making the occasional snarky remark, but he feels his heart stop for half a second when his phone lights up.

 

His eyes skim over the two messages, and he stands dumbfounded for the next four seconds before having the sense to turn and almost _run_ back out of the shop—no, he supposes that he should be running because this counts as an emergency.

 

Sugawara turns to look at him wit a perplexed expression. He shakes his head, snapping back a tense _Yamaguchi_ that has more than enough anger to shut the setter up. He doesn’t check to see if the rest of the team are following.

 

He’s lucky that he’s been to the boy’s place so many times. He doesn’t know if he would be able to get there otherwise, with his spinning head and a concern that says _screw you_ to his mindset about not giving any shits for anyone.

 

The sky’s starting to darken when he approaches Yamaguchi’s house, as if it’s sending him some warning signal about the situation.

 

Tsukishima stops, distracted by the sound of blaring sirens and the sight of a crowd starting to gather outside the apartment. He frowns, eyebrows starting to knit together, but he gives in to curiosity in the end an approaches one of the friendlier-looking adults.

 

“It’s horrible.” The dark-haired woman shakes her head. “One of the residents—the sweet Karasuno first-year—tried to jump. I’m not too sure about the specifics, but—“

 

_Shit._ He pushes past the lady, ignoring her alarmed remark and making his way to the front as fast as he can. There’s no time (or chance, really) to apologise to anyone or anything now.

 

“Tadashi—“ he starts, when he eyes the unconscious figure on the ground that’s too bloodied for him to take—and he flinches when the smaller boy is dragged away against his will and loaded onto a stretcher. It’s so unnatural, seeing him so lifeless and _god,_ it’s now that he realises he misses Yamaguchi’s prescence.

 

The last paramedic shoots an awkward glance at him as she prepares to climb into the ambulance, as if she feels sorry for the blonde boy before her.

 

“He’s alive,” she confirms, and that alone relieves some of the weight he feels in his chest.

 

• • •

 

Yamaguchi is alive, by some stroke of luck. The doctor tells them it’s because his fall was cushioned by a nearby patch of grass, but Tsukishima doesn’t have the energy to think about that.

 

When he doesn’t show up to school the next day, no one questions it; not even Hinata. He spends his morning by the boy’s side, forcing himself to stay awake and downing four cups of coffee in the process because he’s too anxious to take his eyes off the sleeping figure next to him.

 

He’s never thought of it, but his best friend looks different when asleep. It’s not as if the pinch server is animated by any means, though; it’s more of the fact that Yamaguchi always has a certain energy around him that keeps him amused.

 

Tsukishima does go to sleep in the end, somewhere around one in the afternoon, and even then it’s a restless state of unconsciousness that does little more than fret him.

 

Karasuno’s volleyball team visits a while after his nap. He can tell from their tired positions that they haven’t slept much more than he has; Hinata’s eyes are red and puffy and even Kageyama doesn’t have the same piercing glare.

 

Daichi tries to lighten the situation with a tone that’s most likely forced. The corners of his mouth crinkle too much when he turns to him and tells him that Yamaguchi would be fine, that he didn’t suffer anything fatal and would be awake soon.

 

It’s the same as what the doctor said, but he finds himself stressing over it more than he should.

 

The team is a mess. One look at Asahi tells him that the third-year has cried more than once—he’s pretty sure everyone’s cried over it, though—and Hinata just stares at the bed with a shell-shocked expression, as if he expects Yamaguchi to wake up any moment and give him an explanation.

 

Sugawara and Noya have the most normal expressions out of all of them. But his vice-captain doesn’t have his signature smile on his face. The libero in front of him looks far too serious for his usual exuberant self.

 

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Yachi stammers out in an attempt to break the silence. Of course, it doesn’t work; the team just turns to stare at her and she yelps before cowering behind Kiyoko. 

 

Bullshit can’t help them through this. Everything wasn’t fine at all.

 

They leave soon after that, and Kageyama lingers behind for a few more seconds with a grim expression on his face. “Why do you think he did it?”

 

He’s out before Tsukishima can even answer. The middle blocker is sure that he didn’t mean it that way, because the setter is a complete idiot that can’t ask a philosophical question in the right way, but it does carry some meaning that stabs him through the chest.

 

The knife twists deep in his heart as he turns his attention back to the sleeping boy. He doesn’t know why his best friend did it, and it hurts.

 

• • •

 

Yamaguchi wakes up just past three in the morning, and the shift in the bedsheets are enough to nudge a sleeping Tsukishima into waking.

 

When the blonde looks up, it’s to a pair of downcast eyes staring at the ground in a manner that makes him want to punch himself in the face because he could have _done something._

 

“Yamaguchi,” he says instead, and the boy startles and switches his gaze to him. “Why did you do it?”

 

“I-I—“ The boy bites his lip, turning away from him and trying to wipe away unshed tears with the back of his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Tsukki, I—“

 

The two of them drift into silence for the next few minutes; Yamaguchi can’t help the occasional sniffle, though, so Tsukishima raises a hand and wipes his face before he can do it himself. “You’re injured, idiot. With a broken arm.”

 

“Don’t try to apologise,” he snaps as soon as the boy opens his mouth. “What you _should_ feel sorry for is thinking that you’re not as good as the rest of us.”

 

A few more moments pass. The brunette looks as dumfounded as Hinata, and it takes a few moments for him to register the statement. It takes another minute for him to clutch his sheets to his chest and bury his face in them before answering.

 

“I’ll try, Tsukki.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry aaaa I got a vague idea for this and then I had an entire d Ream? but in the dream yams actually died but I didn't know how to work that in so you got this instead hoho


End file.
